


alternatives

by CopperCaravan



Series: Mass Effect Prompt Fills [5]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Colonist (Mass Effect), F/M, Fera Shepard, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:46:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7284163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperCaravan/pseuds/CopperCaravan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fill for a tumblr prompt: ME characters + "I think you missed your calling."<br/>ME2, Jeff & Shep go for a spin in the shuttle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	alternatives

**Author's Note:**

> A newly discovered law of the universe states that: if you don't tell me specifically not to write about Jeff, I will write about Jeff. Scientists believe this is because I lack any self-control.

“You wanna go for a ride?”

Jeff grunts and barely cocks his head in acknowledgement but Shepard’ll be damned if she dies (again) without getting in one last joyride. Whatever he’s illegally downloading, he can download later.

“Get up,” she says, giving the back of his head a light smack. “We’re taking the shuttle out for a little while, you and me.”

He spins his chair and he’s got that look on his face, the one where he pretends he doesn’t care about anything or anybody. On anybody else, it’s a look she finds annoying— _stupid, dishonest, wasteful_ —but on him it just means things are getting back to normal. It just means that he’s Jeff and she’s Shepard and nobody’s the dead woman or the guy who thinks he killed her. She’ll take defensive over guilty any day.

He gestures toward the shutters, toward the empty nothing outside and the very distinct lack of tourist attractions. “Where the hell are we gonna take the shuttle?”

She shrugs and rolls her eyes.  “I dunno. Who cares? I’ll just take us out for a couple spins around the ship or something.”

“Whoa,” he says, raising his hands. “Whoa, whoa. Hold on. Wait. _You’ll_ take us for a couple spins?”

“I’m a great pilot,” she says back, only a tiny bit offended.

“You might be a great _hobbyist_ pilot, but I’m not really...”

Ok sure, she might not be _technically_ licensed to fly but he wasn’t exactly licensed to steal the Normandy right out of the citadel docking bay. Twice. “We’re doing it, Jeff; I’ll pick you up and carry you if I have to.”

-

She’s not real sure how long they’ve been gone. Doesn’t much matter; they’ve both gotta go back soon enough, gear up and get ready to die. This stretch of time—a second, a moment, an hour—whatever it is, if it’s the last chance she gets for quiet, for peace, for stillness, she’s glad this is it. She’s glad she’s in space, glad she can still love it even though it terrifies her now. She’s glad she took the shuttle in loops around the Normandy’s wings, glad she finally got Jeff in a co-pilot’s seat. (Hell, she’s more than glad about that one—watching from the corner of her eye as his fingers slowly uncurl from around the armrest, as the corners of his mouth shift from terror to exhilaration, hearing that one, undignified whoop of excitement—she’s downright smug.)

It was a good ride.

“You can fly us back if you want,” she says, propping her feet on the forward console and leaning back as far as her seat will allow.

Jeff doesn’t put up his feet, but he does sink into his seat a little, pull his hat down over his eyes like he’s about to take a good, long nap. “I think you missed your calling, Shepard,” he says. “I didn’t know you could fly—well, I didn’t know you could _really_ fly.”

“Hey, I’ve told you before that I could. Your fault you didn’t believe me.”

He laughs. “Maybe I’d believe you more often if you didn’t cheat like a dog at cards.”

“Don’t remember you ever complaining about that when we’re playing partners,” she says, and then, after a pause, “We make good partners.”

For just a second, she can see it—all the paths her life could’ve taken if things had been different.

She’d kissed her first love the year of the raid, promised a girl with long, dark hair that when she became a pilot, she’d take time for joyrides. Melissa. They’d have grown up, grown together, vines tangling as they climb a lattice year after year after year. They’d have kissed ‘goodbye’ in the doorway of their home when Shepard left for a tour. She’d have come back home to her dark haired girl, a kiss ‘hello again.’ She’d have taken Melissa to the citadel and they’d have screwed around in the docking bay, walked past ever-unseen councillor’s offices with their fingers laced together. She’d have been a pilot and a lover and someone else would be fighting this fight—they’d be a spectre, they’d have died in the black over some empty planet, they’d have been held hostage by the Alliance or Cerberus or both, they’d have taken Joker for one last joyride before jumping the Omega 4 and he’d never know he missed her. And Shepard would never know she’d missed him because she’d be in a warm home, curling her fingers through Melissa’s hair, promising her that whatever dangers are plaguing the colonies, nothing’s gonna hurt her.

After the raid, she hadn’t thought of being a pilot. She hadn’t thought of anything. But if she had, if she could’ve, she can see Jeff wearing that grouchy expression with his head bent low over an Academy table while everyone else is asleep. She can see him flick his eyes up at her when she approaches, can hear that dismissive grunt when she asks to join his one man study party. “Why do people call you Joker?” It’d have been a completely different question then, but her answer—Jeff, always Jeff—wouldn’t have changed. They might’ve. He’d have taught her how to feel for the balance of a back heavy drive core and she’d have taught him card tricks. They’d have fought—only once—about her biotics. She’d have spent two holiday breaks on campus, by herself, but after that, he’d invite her to come back to Tiptree, to stay the week with his family because “best friends don’t do New Years alone.” She’d eat the fig preserves he likes so much and they’d eventually remind her of _home_ too. He’d send her the news report about him stealing the Normandy, about Anderson bringing him on as the pilot. She’d text him late at night when she knew he wasn’t sleeping to tell him she’d chased down two slaver freighters in one week. They’d still spend holidays together—on the citadel or on Tiptree. She wouldn’t be part of the crew, wouldn’t be part of the Normandy, but she’d still be right here, right now, because best friends don’t do suicide runs alone.

Or maybe she would be part of the Normandy. Maybe if she hadn’t gotten Kaidan away from the beacon in time, he’d be in charge. Kaidan Alenko, first human spectre and saviour of the citadel. Maybe she’d have been in the co-pilot’s seat all along, helping Jeff steal the Normandy every time the mood struck him. She’d have lost Mindoir and she’d have lost Melissa and she’d have lost her family but she might still have a partner to stay up with and play cards with and spend holidays with. Maybe it’d be the two of them instead, screwing around in the docking bay, laughing at the way the councillors look on the vidscreens, kissing ‘hello’ at the start of each shift but never kissing ‘goodbye.’ Maybe when the Normandy went down, it’d have been Kaidan who went down with it only to rise up under a Cerberus flag two years later. Maybe it’d have been her instead of empty space in the escape pod next to Jeff and she’d have set his broken wrist while they waited for Alliance rescue teams and hoped against hope that Kaidan had made it out. Maybe all that time Jeff spent looking at her like he could love her if he hadn’t killed her, he’d have spent instead looking at her like he did love her, like it was ok because there wasn’t anything keeping them apart—no grief or guilt tainting the air between them, no memories of her body drifting into space, arms flailing and breath quickening and pulse slowing. Maybe then neither of them would be here; maybe she’d manage to talk him out of it, to make him see that she’s lost enough—far too much, in truth—and that she can’t bear to lose him too. Let another pair of pilots jump the Omega 4; we’ve done enough.

He’s right: she’s missed a calling. And she doesn’t know if she ought to grieve because surely, if she’d lived those other lives, she’d reach this moment and she’d think _what if._ She’d think of N7 and Anderson and her crew. Having a drink with Doc and visiting Talitha in the clinic and looping her arms around Garrus’ neck, barely making it from the elevator to the bed.

She reaches over toward Jeff, is careful of her grip around his wrist. It isn’t shame that makes her voice quiet. “You don’t have to go, you know. You don’t have to. I wish you wouldn’t.”

It isn’t shame that makes him look at her like he can’t believe she’s said it. “What? And let somebody else fly my ship? Nah. Besides,” he says, settling back into his comfortable slouch and putting his other hand on hers, just briefly. “We’re partners.”


End file.
